


Bozeman

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Series: Cold Wind [25]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrench had been in the middle of a particularly boring chapter in his book when he felt his feet vibrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bozeman

Wrench had been in the middle of a particularly boring chapter in his book when he felt his feet vibrate. He looked up from his book to see Numbers' cell phone buzzing away on the coffee table he was resting his ankles on. He scanned the apartment for Numbers, but didn't see him. Snapping his book shut, he walked into the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally the bedroom, where he saw Numbers napping peacefully. Somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledged it was a bit creepy to watch someone sleep, but he couldn't stop himself. Numbers looked so serene, so angelic, so helpless, so adorable. Wrench grinned to himself as he thought about his partner's reaction to being called any of those things. He watched his chest move up and down gently with each breath, looking totally peaceful. Wrench could feel his heart flutter a bit- no, wait, that was his cell phone going off in his shirt pocket. Numbers rustled only slightly, causing Wrench to smile down at him warmly. He flipped his phone open and scanned the screen.

_GOT WORK FOR YOU AND NUMBERS. COME DOWN TO THE OFFICE SOON AS YOU GET A CHANCE. -J_

Wrench put his phone away and gingerly sat down on the bed next to Numbers, gently rubbing his back until his partner stirred and cracked open one eye to look at him.

_We have a job. Jergen wants us at the office._ Numbers sat up and stretched, his hair askew and eyes bleary.

_I slept too hard, I think. My nap fucking exhausted me. I feel so betrayed._ Wrench snorted a laugh and tousled his partner's hair, earning him an eyeroll and halfhearted smack on the arm before Numbers got to his feet and started to get dressed.

\---

Jergen had already compiled the case folders for them by the time they had arrived. Wrench noticed he seemed a little off, more skittish and twitchy than usual. Wrench waved at Numbers.

_What's wrong with him? He looks like hell._ He watched Numbers and Jergen talk, going back and forth, while he patiently awaited his translation. Fortunately for him, Numbers wasn't a certified interpreter or anything, so he'd just pass on the Cliff's Notes version of whatever was eating at Aussie instead of the rambling novella he seemed to be unloading on Numbers.

_Said the boss got insulted at the last meeting he went to. Head of Bozeman made some crack about him losing his touch, losing his turf. Sounded like a threat, so he wants us to take care of it. Something brutal, dramatic, something that sends a message._

_And this relates to Aussie looking like he's expecting to get shot at any minute because...?_

_Apparently the boss yelled while giving the order. Punched a wall, too._ Wrench's eyebrows shot up. Fargo rarely spoke, and he always kept an unnervingly calm demeanor no matter what the situation. Wrench had been present when Fargo had been informed that his stepdaughter had been kidnapped, and looked only slightly more annoyed than if he had just been told his suit made him look dumpy. If he had yelled and punched a wall, shit was serious. He and Numbers couldn't fuck this up, that was for sure. Wrench flipped through the file in front of him. There was an address and a photograph of a white farmhouse out in what seemed to be the countryside, with neighbors miles away and separated by thick swatches of forest. He thumbed through the photographs, memorizing the faces and trying to think of the most dramatic and efficient way to kill them. He glanced briefly at Numbers, who was still listening to Aussie go on about something or other at a million miles per hour. Wrench smiled to himself as he turned back to his open folder. Numbers could probably think of something creative to do with these people. He had an almost artistic talent for knowing how to send the message 'don't fuck with Fargo', and his medium was blood and pain. He saw Numbers wave at him out of the corner of his eye.

_Let's go. We gotta pack up our gear and leave ASAP._ Wrench nodded and gave Aussie a small wave as they left, following closely behind Numbers as if he were the smaller man's much taller, ginger haired shadow.

\---

_Fucking 9/11, making our jobs harder. Used to be we'd hop on a flight for shit like this. 4 hours and one tiny bottle of vodka later and you'd land, kill the guy, and get back on another plane to go home. Easy. Less than half a week away from home. Now, they've got all those scanners, cameras, guards, dogs, security checks. It's impossible to go through an airport without being documented anymore. Now we gotta do this long-ass fucking drive over and do it all over again when we go home. 11 hours. Christ._ Numbers pinched the bridge of his nose, is shoulders rising and falling as he sighed heavily. Wrench grinned into his burger and shook his head. He would swear that if Numbers wasn't complaining about  _something_ the man would probably combust, but instead of finding it obnoxious, he found it slightly amusing and endearing. The small restaurant in Dickinson was almost empty, which Wrench was grateful for. In smaller towns people tended to stare more at the sight of the two of them signing. He knew that, in all likelihood, none of them knew ASL, but he was always worried that someone would see them talking and realize what they were up to. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and watched Numbers chat with the waitress about... something. Fuck, lipreading was hard. Even harder still was lipreading people not facing him. While he figured he was lucky to escape small talk and whatever inane garbage the waitress was saying, he hated feeling left out of the loop. When they'd first started working together, Wrench had wanted to ask Numbers to recount every conversation with waitresses, hotel clerks, and bartenders, but he realized that Numbers wouldn't have the patience to translate everything and he let it go. Times like this, he wished he hadn't. The waitress was smiling too much at Numbers, and Numbers was smiling too much back. They had both leaned into each other, and she was blushing at whatever it was Numbers was saying with that sharkish grin of his. It looked like flirting to Wrench, and it made his stomach clench up tightly. He knew Numbers wouldn't fuck up what the two of them had for some waitress in the middle of nowhere, but it still hurt. He wondered if he could express that to Numbers without receiving an eyeroll in response. The waitress left and Numbers flashed Wrench a toothy grin that made him forget all about his fleeting jealousy. 

_We're in luck. It's not supposed to snow for the next few days, which means if we drive all day we can get there tonight, wreck their shit the next day, then come home and crash._ Wrench wrinkled his nose.

_Driving all day sounds miserable._

_So does being in Bozeman any longer than absolutely necessary._ Wrench chuckled to himself and shook his head. At least Numbers hadn't suggested driving all day, doing the hit, and driving back the same night, although Wrench was certain he had probably considered it. There were three things that Wrench knew beyond a doubt that Numbers loved; complaining, being home, and Wrench.

_You come up with a plan for when we get to Bozeman?_ Wrench asked. Numbers grinned and shrugged.

_I've got bits and pieces of an idea. The fact that the house is pretty fucking secluded helps a lot. Don't have to worry too much about attracting attention while we work._ Numbers leaned back in his chair, pulling out his wallet and tossing some money onto the table.  _Should be an easy job, if Aussie is to be believed. The only thing about it is if we fuck this up, we're in some serious trouble. If Bozeman lives, not only is Bozeman gonna want our heads, but Fargo will, too. So let's not fuck this up, OK?_ Wrench nodded, shrugging on his coat and hoping to himself that Numbers would come up with something foolproof.

\---

It was well past midnight when they finally stopped at the dingy cash-only motel on the edge of town. Wrench flopped onto the hard, lumpy mattress, his eyelids heavy from driving all day. A firm poke in the middle of his chest urged him to open them again.

_I have a plan._ Numbers signed, settling himself on the mattress next to Wrench. 

_Does it involve us sleeping before we go out and kill people? Because if it doesn't, it already needs a revision._ Wrench yawned for added effect.

_Yes it does, you baby._ Numbers swatted playfully at Wrench's shoulder.  _We can sleep in late, too. Plus it's almost impossible to fuck up. All we gotta do is get a bunch of flammable liquid and wait for dark. I've got it all planned out, we'll be in and out of there in maybe 45 minutes, which is still not as long as it'll take for the cops or firemen to get there. We'll be back on the road before they even arrive._

_You've got it all figured out, huh?_ Wrench signed.

_Yeah. This is a cakewalk, honestly. Completely laughable security as well as a secluded house in the middle of the woods? I can't tell if he's stupidly cocky or suicidal. Or both._ Wrench nodded sleepily and yawned again.  _You didn't have to drive the whole way, you know. I could have driven._ Numbers' face looked uncharacteristically guilty and compassionate, like he actually felt bad about his partner driving for almost 12 hours. Wrench thought it was sweet.

_It's fine, and besides, you kept falling asleep in the passenger's seat! I'm not letting a sleepy person drive!_ Numbers laughed, shaking the mattress underneath him.

_What else is there to do? I can't read too much in cars because it makes me sick, we can't hold a conversation because your hands are busy, and the view outside is mostly flat and white. All there is to do is either drive or sleep or plan!_ Numbers ran his fingers through Wrench's hair and kissed him on the forehead.  _If it's any consolation, I'll drive home._

_You say that like you have a choice._ Wrench reached over and grabbed Numbers by the lapels, pulling him down on top of him for a slow, lazy kiss. Wrench had missed him, despite the fact that he had been less than five feet away from him all day long. They hadn't been able to talk or really even touch, and in a strange way, it was almost worse than being alone. Now that they were finally able to talk and hang out, they were both too tired to do much more than sleepily kiss and hold each other. Numbers was right, he thought to himself. Flying would have been a lot better. 

\---

They parked the car down the country road and walked quickly through the dark, a heavy duffel bag slung over both men's shoulders and sharp knives clenched in their fists. Snow crunched beneath their feet as they trudged toward the lone house at the end of the long driveway, windows illuminated with yellow light that spilled out onto the yard outside. Numbers stopped at the treeline, tossing down his duffel bag and pointing to the three figures wandering around the outside of the house. Bozeman's pathetic attempt at security, apparently. Numbers knelt into the snow, digging around until he produced what looked to Wrench to be a rock. He threw it further into the woods, and Wrench could see all three men's heads snap to attention in their direction. Wrench took cover behind a tree and waited. Three tall figures passed by them, spread out evenly among the trees. Wrench rushed up behind one, clamping his hand over the man's mouth before stabbing into the side of his neck and pushing forward, slicing his throat clean open. Wrench turned and saw Numbers taking down a second man while the third tried to rush behind Numbers and take him by surprise. Wrench flung his blade through the air, embedding it deep into the man's skull, sending blood pouring down his face as he crumpled and fell into the snow. Numbers looked at the corpse and turned back to Wrench, clearly impressed.

_Thanks._

_Did they make a sound?_ Wrench asked.

Numbers snapped his fingers shut. _No._

Numbers returned to his duffel bag and started rooting through it, pulling out pieces of his rifle and assembling them in the dark with practiced hands. Wrench had seen Numbers practice assembling and disassembling his weapons blindfolded, in preparation for situations with limited visibility. It was a skill that he had always found impressive, and he promised himself that when they got home, he would ask Numbers to train him to do that. Wrench pulled out the bottles of kerosene from his own bag and lined them up in the snow. He looked over at Numbers, who was busy putting together a second rifle. It was almost too dark to talk much and Numbers' hands were occupied anyways, so Wrench turned his attention to the house, watching the people inside move around and busy themselves with washing dishes and reading books, completely unaware of the lack of security outside. He felt a tap on his arm, and turned to see Numbers handing him a rifle. Wrench took the weapon, freeing Numbers' hands. Even in the dark, his words were clear.

 _Wait back there._ Numbers pointed to the back of the house. Wrench nodded and slung his rifle over his shoulder, following the treeline to the back of the house, allowing the darkness of the woods to hide him from the clueless people in the house. Wrench brushed the snow off of a log and sat, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible, keeping one eye on the back door and the other on Numbers, who was barely visible in his large dark coat and beard. After a while, the lights in the house went off, one by one, until it was completely dark. Wrench watched Numbers dark figure walk across the snow to the house, kerosene bottles under his arms. One by one, he emptied them on the porch, on the sides of the house, and splashing it all over the window ledges and doors. Wrench watched him stalk back around to the front of the house to his spot in the treeline, only to re-emerge with a lit molotov cocktail in his hand and his rifle over his shoulder. For a brief moment, Wrench could see his partner's wicked grin illuminated in the darkness right before he lobbed his weapon at the home, crashing through a window and sending the home up in flames instantly. The heat hit Wrench's face in a wave, and he could feel his skin prickling. Smoke poured out of the windows, and the smell of burning wood and plastic filled Wrench's nose. Suddenly the back door swung open and a fat, balding man in his boxers came running out into the snow to escape the blaze. Even in the orange glow of the house fire, Wrench recognized Bozeman immediately. He shouldered his rifle and popped the man in the forehead, causing the back of his skull to erupt and spray brains and blood and bone fragment across the shimmering snow as his corpse fell in a heap. Out of the corner of his eye Wrench saw Numbers' muzzle flash a few times as his partner picked off the people trying to escape the flames. Wrench watched the fire, almost hypnotized by the ever brightening glow that enveloped the house. He felt a familiar tap on his arm, and turned to see Numbers suddenly by his side.

_A burnt house with a pile of charred bodies on the front porch and a frozen corpse in the backyard gonna be enough of a 'scene' for Fargo, you think?_

_I hope so. Not much else we can do at this point._ Numbers nodded and looked down at the dead man in the snow and cocked his head.

_A headshot, huh?_

_Yeah, why?_ Wrench asked.

_I just shot mine in the knees. Let 'em fall on a burning porch._

_Sounds like a lot of screaming._ Numbers shrugged nonchalantly at that.

_You could barely hear it over the fire. Besides, it's supposed to be brutal, right? Getting kneecapped and then burning alive is pretty brutal in my book._ He shrugged again and pulled up the collar of his jacket.  _You stay here, take the rifles apart and repack them. I'll get the car. We'll drag the security guys to the front porch and maybe they'll burn too._ Wrench nodded and set to work, disassembling his weapon and shoving its parts back into the bag while Numbers disappeared into the woods. Wrench finished packing up and pulled two of the security guys' bodies to the front of the house, watching them blister and burn like the rest of the corpses burn on the porch. He could smell them burning, and for a moment almost thought he'd throw up right then and there until he saw the familiar headlights come around the corner. He smiled and shouldered the bags, walking towards the car that approached him. Numbers parked and popped the trunk, then climbed out and headed back to the treeline, pulling the last corpse onto the porch and retreating to the car where he found Wrench in the driver's seat.

_I told you I would drive home._ Numbers signed. Wrench shook his head.

_You gotta call Jergen ASAP and let him know it's done. Sooner the boss is happy the sooner that guy can relax, poor guy's probably been walking on eggshells this whole time. Now get in. We'll switch after we get out of town and stop somewhere for the night._ Numbers nodded in agreement, climbing into the car and pulling out his phone as Wrench drove off into the darkness. He could see the orange glow of the fire grow dimmer and dimmer the further they drove, until it was gone entirely. They hadn't seen a single fire truck or police car pass them on their way out, and Wrench wondered if maybe the bodies wouldn't be found until the next day. He hoped so, the longer it took them to find the bodies, the more likely they were to get away clean. With any luck, whatever was left of Bozeman's group would either run and hide or blame Twin Falls or Billings. Wrench looked over at Numbers, fast asleep, his face squashed against the back of his seat and illuminated by the console, and wondered what a man who burned people alive would think about being described as 'adorable'.

 


End file.
